


Snow Angels

by CelticPixie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Ice Skating, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff, Sherlock's Violin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 21:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20160580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticPixie/pseuds/CelticPixie
Summary: Sherlock can be a right arsehole, but Molly isn't letting him get away with it...





	Snow Angels

Somehow or another, he had been convinced to host a Christmas party at the flat. It would be fun, they said. He would enjoy himself, they said. Thus far, it had not been fun nor was he enjoying himself.

John had brought himself a date—which Sherlock doubted would go well, in the end—Lestrade was there, as was Mrs. Hudson; basically, when it came down to it, the only people given the chance to be remotely close enough as friends to Sherlock Holmes. The few who could stand to be in the same room with him for more than an hour without someone wanting to punch him in the face.

And yet, there was one person who wasn’t there, the same person who deserved a phone call. They never phoned each other before, least of all during the holidays but something in Sherlock’s warm heart had him excusing himself from everyone else, shielding himself behind the door of his bedroom and whipping out his mobile phone.

He seemed perfectly content to go on pretending it didn’t bother him; Christmas Eve, after all—no need to be sad, no need for the tears or the heartbreak. A joyous time. But when the phone call with his brother ended and the Apple iPhone lowered to the nightstand on the very right side of his bed, there was no mistaking the hurt seen in his face.

No answer; he should have come to expect that.

They may not have the best of relationships—God knows that; for all they ever seemed to do was bicker and argue—but they were _brothers_, siblings.

Rolling a light sigh, Sherlock pushed aside whatever feelings he might have had in attempts to communicate with Mycroft this evening. He stared at his mobile for several seconds. And that annoying prickle in the back of his mind that told him to just leave it was back.

Hearing a steady roar of laughter from the living room, Sherlock’s peridot green eyes looked over his left shoulder. Groaning inwardly, he pulled himself into the bathroom and retrieved a small bottle of aspirin from the cabinet above the sink. After twisting open the cap, he tilted the bottle and gradually tapped out two pills into his palm. Sherlock tossed them back into his mouth and flicked on the water faucet. He made a cup with his right hand and slowly scooped cold water into his mouth.

Only seconds later did he turn off the faucet and twist the lid of the aspirin bottle back on. He replaced the bottle in the cabinet and wrung his hands through with a small red cloth draped between two silver-plated dowels. Sherlock stood up straight and tugged at his jacket then stepped out of his bathroom and beelined across the carpet of his bedroom. He first snuck a peek into the living room then emerged slowly.

+++++

With the violin cradled to his neck and the bow pinched between his fingers, Sherlock glided gracefully across the floor in front of the window. He played a very nice rendition of We Wish You a Merry Christmas. Often, he’d take up the violin and play something for various reasons; sometimes when he needed to think, when he was bored or if he felt like being whimsical for a change. This was Christmas Eve after all.

And as he finished his playing, a small thunder of a applause erupted and Mrs. Hudson sat there beaming as if she were looking very much like a proud mother to her son. “That was lovely,” she said in a usual chipper tone.

Sherlock took a short bow.

“Though I do wish you could wear those antlers.”

Smirking; “Some things are better left up to the imagination, Mrs. Hudson. Oh no thank you, Sarah.” From the corner of his left eye, he noticed John’s date had walked up with a trey of food. Though once he had gotten a look at her face, Sherlock frowned.

John was on his feet quickly, trying to come up with an excuse for his dearly misguided friend. “No, no no- he’s not good with names…”

“No, I got this. Sarah was the doctor, then there was that one with the nose and- oh, who was after that boring teacher?”

John’s date crossed her arms. “Nobody.”

“Jeanette!” he exclaimed almost excitedly. “Process of elimination.” He started to turn away again when someone else had walked through his doorway and by the smell of lavender perfume suddenly wafting through his nostrils, he had to look; and a look of distain washed over him. “Oh, hell…”

“Hello everyone.”

+++++ 

“I see you’ve got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you’re serious about him.”

“Sorry, what?”

“In fact, you’re seeing him this very night and you’re giving him a gift.” It was the small mound of presents in the bag she brought with her that drew his attention, especially the red one on top that she so obviously put more care into wrapping than the rest of them.

Seated next to Jeanette, John squeaked, “Take a day off…”

“Shut up and have a drink,” Lestrade added.

“Oh come on, surely you’ve all seen the present on top of the bag?” Sherlock pushed himself out of the chair. “Perfectly wrapped with a bow, all the others are slap-dash at best.” He picked up the present in question, and held it close in his right hand. “For someone special then.” His eyes traveled over to Molly’s face. “Shade of red echoes her lipstick, either an unconscious association or one that she’s deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has loooove on her mind.”

By this point, Molly’s heart was pounding in her throat. A brilliant shade of red had flushed just under a layer of pale skin. She looked away from his piercing eyes, trying almost desperately to put her mind elsewhere for the moment.

“The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact that she's giving him a gift at all, which would suggest hopes of a long-term relationship. And the fact that she's seeing him tonight is obvious from her makeup and what she's wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breas…”

Sherlock’s voice suddenly trailed off and the look in his eyes mirrored that surprisingly tight feeling in his chest. He read the inscription there on the tag. There was this dryness to his throat that almost mimicked how his stomach had dropped. Looking at Molly and realizing the silence that surrounding them, he also noticed a set of unshed tears in the red-head’s eyes.

_Bugger_, he thought.

He slid a single foot forward. “Molly, I- “

“You always say such horrible things,” she rounded, cutting him off. “Always. Always…” She stole a very brief look at her own feet, feeling a sudden nausea churn her stomach.

“I am sorry. Forgive me.”

Sherlock’s heart rate increased.

When Molly looked up at him again, he closed some distance between them. With a gentle “Merry Christmas”, he pressed his lips to her cheek. And he was surprised by how soft and warm her skin felt. Something else had caught him off guard too, and his face was suddenly covered in red wine. Blinking hard, he read the face that now had adopted on a hard scowl.

She didn’t know what became of her. It was a sudden impulse she had. And now the empty wine glass was placed down on the table. She apologized to everyone else in the room then turned sharply on her heels and stormed out.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this one a WHILE ago, but never posted it on this site. I absolutely LOVED Sherlock (BBC) and desperately await a fifth season...if we ever get that far *le sigh* Please, PLEASE enjoy :)


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